


Help Unwanted

by Hymn



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Caught in the Act, Extreme stress, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly dub con, PWP, angry vulnerability, handjobs, lending a hand, not a romance fic lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-17
Updated: 2007-07-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 03:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14685269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/pseuds/Hymn
Summary: Shouri is in a rather overwhelming situation.





	Help Unwanted

**Author's Note:**

> for spk, Kyou Kara Maou, Conrad/Shori: Caught masturbating - "Body and beats/I stain my sheets/I don't even know why"

This is…too much. Shouri has known since he was little that his world would fall down amongst strange paths, ever since that day beside the water with the strange old man in the black suit and black sunglasses. That old man had made certain that Shouri never forgot, either, but - this?

Nothing could ever have prepared him to slip through water into a new world, where demons were charming and Yuuri was a king, who protected as much as he was protected. Nothing had prepared Shouri for the little girl who was, against all odds, his niece. Shouri had known all along that Yuuri was gay, but engaged? It was all a bit…much.

But all of this, all of these oddities and surprises and role reversals to what had been Shouri’s life up until now, well, none of that compares to the helplessness. Shouri hated that Weller man on principle because his brother didn’t need him, didn’t need someone who wasn’t Shouri to protect him, but then he comes to Shin Makoku, to this new world, and everything changes.

Suddenly Shouri is powerless to help his baby brother, and Conrad’s understanding smile and steady brown eyes just make him all the more furious.

It’s horrible, terrifying. It fills Shouri’s entire being with anger and desperation and coats everything with a bitter taste, that despite his skills and his power and his knowledge back home, it is worthless here, in a world that follows different rules than his own.

Shouri refuses to let that be the end, though. He knows he’s not the most patient person in the world, but he’ll be damned if he just gives up. His brother is counting on him, whether Yuuri knows it or not, and Shouri knows that, at the very least, this world can’t be completely different from his own: There are limitless possibilities, and if he just keeps a careful watch, he knows he’ll find a path eventually, and he’ll take it, and walk down it, and find the power that he needs.

In the mean time, though, it’s too much, because maybe he’s not as human as some would suppose, but he gets frustrated just as easily. And his mind is his best – and, while in Shin Makoku, his only, it seems – weapon that he has. He can’t afford for it to be clouded and distracted with an overflow of emotions. He needs to be detached, wary, watchful, but he’s never been very good at keeping cool when it comes to his baby brother.

There is one way, though, that he knows will help ease the tension, ease the frustration and roil of emotions blossoming in hot, angry flashes beneath his skin. It’s an age-old remedy, and Shouri laughs a little, slightly mocking, that he’s turning to this when his hormones haven’t ruled him in years. But he’ll use whatever is in his grasp, to the best of his advantage, and he mutters to his dark stone room, “Well. If it works, it works,” and leans back in his big, luxurious bed; slides his hand down, over his stomach, eyes closing in concentration.

He’s already calmer, falling into old patterns, into a normalcy from that other world. Shouri sighs, and slips his hand under the waistband of his sleepwear. The world is dark and chaotic all around him but it’s distant, now, and Shouri focuses on his pleasure as a knife sharp point slicing through everything else, peeling it away so that his world is calm and peaceful and rocked only with a pleasure of Shouri’s own making.

It’s hard to move his wrist, and Shouri is slowly relaxing into his pillows, beginning to enjoy himself. Heat pulses through him; pleasure a white, curling fog settling heavy in his stomach, shivering out across his skin. With a faint noise of annoyance, he pulls his hand out, and wrestles his pajama bottoms down, low on his thighs, almost to his knees, so that he can spread his legs for better reach; he spits on his palm to make the slip and slide of his hand on his erection easier, and then moans quietly when he gets back to work, thumbing the slit and squeezing down to the base in even, measured strokes.

With his other hand he reaches down, presses his fingers against his balls, petting them, shivering as he begins to edge precariously closer to a thin line between enough and too much. 

And that’s when his door opens, and Shouri opens his eyes with a gasp, hand freezing mid pull on his cock. Conrad stands in the open doorway, a look of shocked surprise in his brown eyes, though all he does is smile slightly in embarrassment, and give a short bow of apology.

“I’m sorry. Apparently this was a bad time to try and talk to you. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.”

He leaves, the door shutting behind him with a heavy click, and- 

what the hell?! 

Shouri is panting, and his erection is still mostly there, too worked up to let go of its pleasure so easily, and Shouri trembles, feeling waves of vulnerability crash over him, even now that he’s alone again. 

What the hell, damn it!

All of Shouri’s work is undone, but he’s still hard, still wanting, and he snarls quietly and puts his shoulder into it, a hard, fast, rough handjob, with his other hand mercilessly reaching long fingers back, to press just behind his balls, against the soft skin, so that electric hot pleasure jolts through Shouri, mingling with the embarrassment, the anger. He hates Weller, and now Weller has seen Shouri with his pants down, gasping, naked in ways that clothes could never cover, and-

Shouri comes on a bitten off curse, shooting his seed over his sheets, Conrad’s brown, understanding gaze boring into him the entire time from his mind’s eye.

*

The next day is horrible. Shouri is even touchier than usual, snapping and snarling and reckless. When he gets called on it, he knows he’s in the wrong, but he doesn’t care; he’s wrapped up in a tornado of dark fury, a tight, simmering anger to cloak the vulnerability that still makes him shiver and tremble at odd moments. 

He tries to avoid Conrad’s eye, and Conrad’s soft, confident words make monsters savage Shouri’s insides, and Shouri hates the way that Yuuri looks at him. 

There’s a point when Conrad tries to come up soft and easy beside him, and opens his mouth to spin out words that Shouri doesn’t dare listen to, but Shouri turns away and doesn’t give him a chance.

*

Shouri watches the door for a long time. He’s in his bed, his stone room dark around him, and it’s been another miserable day in a world he’s increasingly aware that he doesn’t belong in. I want to go home, he thinks, and then he frowns and firms himself against that thought, because even if he does, he can’t. Yuuri is still in danger and there are things that must be done before he can leave this place.

He can’t stop watching the door, and he’s surprised when he realizes where his hand is: pressed against the front of his boxers, rubbing slow circles over a slowly thickening erection. His breath catches in his throat, and his eyes are frozen on the door, waiting, waiting, and he hates this, oh god, he’s full of a helpless want, a helpless need, and he can’t quite stop himself even though he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand why he’d want to continue.

He watches the door and waits with his hand undulating gently on his prick, his other hand sliding up under his shirt to twist and roll his nipples. He’s sprawled wanton on his bed, and his shirt gets jacked up to an indecent degree, and Shouri flushes as he realizes that he still has his socks on, his legs spread and gangly and his mouth open on a hungry grasp as he presses the heel of his palm against himself, and-

The door creaks open.

“Fuck,” he says simply, shuddering long and slow. Conrad steps in with enigmatic eyes and a quiet smile, and closes the door behind him. 

“I need to talk to you,” the guard says, and only hesitates for a moment before walking closer, to the side of Shouri’s bed. Shouri is frozen, watching him with myopic eyes. His glasses are on the table, and once more those waves of vulnerability crash over him, and he trembles. But this is a weakness that Shouri can control, a weakness on a different scale. He watches Conrad, now, panting softly, his hand warm through the thin cotton, heavy on his pulsing length. His other hand flattens against his chest, slides slowly down his side, and Shouri whispers, “What?”

Conrad’s smile widens, and then he’s leaning down, shadows concealing his eyes, and Shouri gasps, because- hell, he’d only seen glimpses of this side of Weller before, and he almost can’t believe that Yuuri has such easy command of such a dangerous, powerful man, and then there is no room for thought, because Conrad’s hand is pressing gently, demanding against Shouri’s, rocking without mercy.

“It’s okay,” Conrad says in a slow, warm voice, “to ask for help. To let others share your burden. It’s okay if you can’t do everything. Your brother is loved, here, and well protected.” Conrad’s eyes are a glimmer of hot cinnamon through lowered lashes, and he leans down, laps at one of Shouri’s nipples, before leaning back and breathing words against the damp skin: “It’s okay to be taken care of once in a while.”

Shouri groans, arching beneath Conrad’s hand, gasping and whining as Conrad frees Shouri of his boxers, as Conrad’s hand takes command of Shouri’s cock; thrums his fingers down Shouri’s length and makes Shouri shake and shiver beneath him, the world an unimportant blur around him, at least for a while.


End file.
